


The Aftermath

by heda_leksa_kom_trikru



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heda_leksa_kom_trikru/pseuds/heda_leksa_kom_trikru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa deals with the weight of her decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the incident at Mount Weather. Clarke manages to make her way to Polis, finds Lexa in a troubling state.
> 
> Trigger Warning- alcoholism, violence
> 
> Clarke's POV

You are still amazed at the life here in Polis. While Lexa leaves you each day to explore on your own, countless Grounders are eager to show you around. You witness the true life of Grounder culture, realizing that Lexa was right- Polis has changed the way you view the culture, more than she alone could.

 

Lexa's take on the seemingly harsh culture, although revolutionary, makes sense to you. You understand the way she manipulates the customs to create a better life for her people. Being immersed in the culture, as well as Lexa's methods, brings you great awe. These people are able to survive, no, thrive. 

 

You think about your people, who you left after the happenings at Mount Weather. You pray that they are not suffering, though you know they are. They will be fine, having your mother and Bellamy to lead them. You hope, like the Grounders, they will thrive.

 

You spend the day like you have been for the past week- exploring parts of the city, sometimes venturing out into the surrounding forest. There is a peaceful stream nearby that helps you forget the pain of your decision at Mount Weather. You wonder silently how Lexa deals with her decision, yet you never ask.

 

At night, you return to Lexa's tent. She insisted, upon your arrival, that you stay with her. She wants to be able to look after you, to keep you safe. You were bitter about it at first. Hating her was all too easy, yet you still crave her presence. She left you and your people to die at Mount Weather, yet you are drawn to her. You assume she feels the same.

 

You lay on a small pile of furs and hay next to Lexa's larger bed. She usually arrives late, silent and unacknowledging. You let her slip in and out rather than face the awkward conversation you know will arise. She wakes before you and leaves in a similar manner. While you are under her protection, in her city, in her tent, there is little interaction between you. There are so many things you want to ask her, to tell her, yet you avoid conversation. She makes it all too easy.

 

Lexa stumbles in, more unbalanced and clumsy than usual. You suspect that she has been drinking, as she often does at night, but tonight she is far more intoxicated. She lacks her grace, her control. You pretend to be asleep, as usual. Clutching a blanket closer to your body and squeezing your eyes shut, you wait for the inevitable extinguishing of candles and rustling of furs to signify that she is in bed. That never happens.

 

You wait a couple of minutes before opening your eyes. She is standing there, staring at you, her thin frame swaying unsteadily. Her usual facade has fallen and you can see pain in her eyes. When she notices your gaze, she lurches forward. "Clarke," she grumbles. "You're still awake." Her hand reaches out to steady herself on her bed.

 

You nod in response, hoping that will be the end of the conversation. Actually talking to Lexa brings up the possibility of what happened at Mount Weather and the emotions tied to their actions. Especially when Lexa is drunk. Very drunk.

 

"You've been avoiding me, Clarke." The words tumble from her mouth roughly, your name sounding like an accusation.

 

"You've been busy," is your only reply. You want to roll over and get back to 'pretending' that you are asleep, though you can't bring yourself to look away from her. Seeing Lexa like this, clumsy and intoxicated, is rather captivating.

 

She snorts a response and bends down to sit next to you, having no regard for where your body lays under the fur. Sitting down, almost on your legs if you didn't swiftly move them, she finally turns her gaze away from you. Her hands tighten into fists in her lap. If the hurt in her eyes wasn't enough, her bowed head and curved posture scream to you that she is in pain.

 

"Lexa-" you begin to say softly. You stop suddenly as you catch sight of a single tear fall from her clenched jaw. As you sit up, shuffling to arrange yourself next to her, she slowly turns to face you. You notice the tears built up in her eyes. When your gaze locks with hers, drops fall freely from her eyes. She blinks them shut slowly, leaving them closed as tears escape silently.

You are taken aback by this show of emotion. Yes, she is drunk, but she is clearly more troubled than just an intoxicated, overdramatic show of feelings. You want to reach out to comfort her, but are unsure of your place. There has been little exchange between the two of you since you have been in Polis. Quiet pleasantries and greetings when you occasionally see each other. She is always busy. Out of sight, yet not out of mind. You constantly play over possible dialogues in your head, whether it is because you crave her interaction or are trying to distract yourself from the horrors you have faced, you are unsure. Now that she is actually here, troubled and seemingly open to talk, you do not know how to react.

 

She doesn't give you more time to think as she flops over with a groan. Within moments, her eyes are closed and she is snoring. Loudly.

 

You never pictured Lexa as a snorer. The past few nights, when she has slept in her own bed rather than passed out along the bottom half of yours, her breathing was louder than usual but never a snore. The sound draws a chuckle from your lips.

 

You crawl out of the small bed to reposition her. She does not wake up as you pull her more towards the top of the bed, tucking furs and blankets around her curled up form. She looks so small, snoring and balled up. The top of her face peeks out through the fur and you are able to see the drying tears on her cheeks.

 

Your heart aches for her. She must be dealing with something pretty weighty, something she has been trying to hide from you. You wonder what it is and begin to think of ways to ask. 

 

You get up to extinguish the candles. In the darkness, you can barely make out her bundled form. You wonder if you should sleep in her bed, since she is in yours, but decided that the consequences might be harsh. Would she get mad? Probably. You decided to curl up next to her, your hand brushing some stray hairs out of her face. She clutches the furs tighter and releases a deep sigh. Her breath reeks of alcohol yet you lay your head next to hers.

 

Tentatively, you reach out to rub her sleeping body. Your hand brushes comfortingly over her arm, a gesture that makes you smile despite the fact that she will have no recollection of the action. 

 

"It will be okay, Lexa. Whatever you are going through, it will be okay," you murmur, your face a mere inch away from hers. The bed is small, which is why you are so close to her. Or so you tell yourself.

 

You know your comforting notions are being wasted; she will have no knowledge of what you are doing. Somehow, it encourages you and gives you freedom to try to fix her pain. You continue to lightly caress her arms, your hands moving to rub her back as well. You fall asleep like that, tracing circles on her back, and murmuring quiet assurances.


End file.
